Guilt
by LoveAnimeForever
Summary: ONESHOT - Itachi-centric - Based on the animation "Dog". - The massacre catches up with Itachi and he finds himself in his brother's shoes after Madara kills Sasuke. "Did he die peacefully too?" - Thanks to DarkDT.


**Guilt**

By LoveAnimeForever

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The candles flicker even though there is no wind, casting wavering, faint shadows against the wall. My silhouette outlines harshly against the fuzzy grey of my room as I kneel before the moon watching me from outside the window. It is night and I let myself float away into my past – only it isn't for me to let, it is for my memories to finally crash through my barriers and engulf me in these bloody thoughts…

I wasn't born or raised to be like this; I wasn't bred or taught to betray – trained to kill, certainly, but not to be disloyal and murder my clan. Obviously, I wasn't the one who single-handedly massacred them all, but I let them get killed – I might as well be held guilty. I was so innocent then – before anything important happened – and maybe I still am now, to reflect on my sins and still feel remorse and guilt, wishing I had never turned from my family. They loved me and doted on me, tolerating any mistake no matter the size and consequence – unconditionally. Yet I cast them aside for power, simply because he told me it was worth it.

"You alright, kid? Still thinking about your clan?" his voice echoes throughout my sparse room from the shadows and his bright orange mask meets my already nearly blind eyes.

Uchiha Madara – what a fitting name. He is the one who tainted me, twisting me into this monster. He is my teacher and my superior. He revealed the blessing and curse of the Mangekyou to me; he showed me how I could get it; he taught me the skills necessary to achieve it. He trained me to kill my heart, caging it up before letting it dissolve in your acid thoughts; to suffer the unbearable until it becomes enjoyable, enduring the worst of beatings and fights until you can feel your wounds no more; to remain calm in the face of the most gruesome blood and death, murdering and killing until it becomes instinct. The end result? Being able to kill your best friend and eventually your brother unflinchingly and coming away with a clear conscience or, preferably, no conscience at all. It had worked, but not perfectly. I'm still guilty and vulnerable – and I'm ashamed of it. I'm nearly breaking and I don't know how much longer I can keep my sanity and conscience – or rather, the lack thereof.

"Aa," I reply coolly, trying to hide my guilt. I know he knows that my conscience is still there; that my heart still exists, and I know he knows that I know he hates to see me vulnerable, because it means he failed (even if only marginally), and he hates to fail.

I remember standing beside their corpses while waiting for Sasuke to carry out Madara's plan – a plan so perfect, so ingenious. A plan to make me take the blame should it ever catch up with us, to make it seem like the massacre was my doing – I was his mask, his puppet. Their clothes weren't white (they were crimson) and their faces weren't peaceful (they were contorted in agony). It was so easy to imagine what he did to them using his Mangekyou and no matter what he says now – though I believe him so that they won't haunt me – I know (it lingers at the back of my mind) that they died neither quickly nor painlessly. He had volunteered so that I (and I quote) "wouldn't have to suffer the guilt of killing my own parents", but it was probably more so that I wouldn't mess up his plan.

"Relax, kid. I've told you many times, haven't I?" he whispers softly, comfortingly. "I killed them quickly. They didn't even have the time to scream. Just like that," here he snapped his fingers, "they died. Don't listen to your guilty conscience – I know you are right now – around me. What did I teach you? Or have you forgotten? Do we need to run through it again, Itachi?" his voice easily slides from comforting to threatening, maintaining its fatal volume, and he pronounces my name so dangerously that I shudder at the thought of agreeing to his last suggestion.

He has as much mercy as he wants me to have – none. Countless times he nearly killed me because of a minute mistake: punch too soft; kick too slow – among many others. He always warned, pinning me down after a humiliating defeat, "You could get yourself killed, Itachi, if you aren't perfect. (Like right now.) If you can't get rid of that heart beating in your chest or those mistakes in your limbs, I'll do it for you." And he meant it. I knew better, even then, than to defy him. Every night I would return to my room sore and bleeding, the aftermath of a show of his magnificent power. Those wounds healed, but the mental torture was always inescapable and lurked at the back of my mind – his threats, his criticism, his Mangekyou. I never dared (nor do I now) to defy him – doing anything against him meant certain death. And anyway, (or so he said) he had singled me out from among the hundreds of our clan, how could I be so ungrateful as to turn from him? So I became his obedient puppet, and I probably still am now – just as Sasuke is mine.

"Aa," I can do nothing but reply emotionlessly, neither in the positive nor in the negative, in ashamed fear – he is still stronger than me by at least tenfold, I still can't afford to disobey him.

The next day dawns early, a usual for an Akatsuki member, and I leave the hideout alone, strolling aimlessly in the forest – a rare incident, since the missions are abundant right now. The past is just there, waiting for me to let my guard down again, ready to throw my sins at me. I focus on the familiar scenery (I killed a few intruders here, or was it there? Or were there so many that some died here and some died there?), but a familiar scream cuts through my meditation. It's Sasuke; I would recognize that voice anywhere. I'm the only one allowed to hurt him, to torture him, to break him, but he is screaming whilst not in my presence; why? I run towards the frightened screams of anguish and barely manage to stop before entering Madara's chakra range. I keep from being noticed, but I can see him torturing Sasuke with those wretched eyes of his. I bitterly remember that I have them and so does Sasuke, but I have no time to think about it – he's turning around after finishing Sasuke off.

Just as I calm down and set my face, seated before the table, Madara pads in with a regretful façade, gently placing Sasuke's body before me. "Sorry, Itachi, instinct."

Liar, don't open your mouth, for either the truth or a lie. How did you torture him? What did you show him? Were you severing him limb from limb? Skinning him? Burning him? It doesn't matter anymore. The mere fact that you killed him in my place is enough to send me into a rage. Madara, it's taking all the self-preservation that you taught me I have to keep myself from flying at you in fury. Fury for what you did to my family, for what you did to my brother; fury for taking what was mine. Fury for bending me to your will;, fury for breaking me into pieces that dare not touch you; fury for my submitting to you. The hatred that you grew in me – I finally have a use for it. But it must remain dormant and I must remain forever submissive until I finally achieve strength greater than yours, allowing me to kill you as you have killed everything important to me. How ironic, that I assume the role I taught Sasuke to use… Am I as cruel as you, making him suffer through what he has?

"Did he die peacefully too?" I question painfully and quietly as I tenderly close his eyes.

I'm sorry, Sasuke, for breaking you and using you and putting you through what I suffered. I will take your suffering (and your eyes – I'm sorry, that was how everything started, wasn't it?) upon myself, perpetually weaker than my opponent with no means to become stronger than he. And you, Madara, it is evident I cannot disobey, so lie to me so that the past doesn't haunt me; use me so that I feel needed; break me so that I have the courage to break others. But please, don't leave me to drown in this guilt. This guilt that you created… This guilt that I'm too weak to bear…

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End file.
